


Dog Days Are Over

by UnpackYourHeart



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnpackYourHeart/pseuds/UnpackYourHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, </p>
<p>Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers,</p>
<p>Leave all you love and longing behind,</p>
<p>You can't carry it with you if you want to survive.'</p>
<p>Juliana wants to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware I had another Walking Dead fanfiction, but as I was displeased with it and it didn't get much of a response, I've been working on a new one for quite some time. Thus, tadah!
> 
> Anyway, the story is obviously a Daryl Dixon/OC romance, following from the first season. The title and story is inspired by the song by Florence + the Machine "Dog Days Are Over". Oh! And Juliana's appearance was inspired Karen Gillan.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy. Thanks!
> 
> Warning: DarylxOC romance, gore, violence, cursing, mentions of rape and abuse, and references to alcohol and drug.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Walking Dead or its characters.

**Prelude:**

Long, pale digits turned and flipped, turned and flipped the unlabeled compact disc between them, delicately, cautiously as orbs of hazel glanced between it and her laptop across the bedroom, back and forth. Perhaps for a near hour did she sit like that, a pensive albeit apprehensive expression upon her face, feeling her heart beat erratically at the mere thought of its contents. Alas, finally, she rose from her bed to her sock-clad feet across the plush carpet towards her desk to her computer.

A gunshot resounding from the outdoors caused the redhead to pause in her endeavors only to rush to the windows, tearing open the blinds, when bloodcurdling screams echoed throughout the neighborhood.

Frantically, her eyes danced about among the houses of the small suburban area for the exact location of the ruckus. It was across the street, the Duello’s , friends, were out on their once vibrantly green lawn; it was now smeared with red, blood. A decaying figure adorned in a stained, torn nightgown, was mauling a now lifeless Mr. Duello, a gaping hole in his neck, his gun discarded. Mrs. Duello was screaming her head off, screaming for her husband, for help. He didn’t rise, though; no one came, but her husband’s killer, its attention, was now drawn to her. It attacked.’

She turned away, stomach rolling.

She only looked back when her ears perked to gunshots going off once more followed by shrieks; that time, though, distinct barking was added to the alarming mix. However, all that sounded heart wrenchingly close.

“Juliana!”

It was close.

Her home was under attack.

The time had come…


	2. Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

**Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire**

It always seemed to begin with screams and ironically, ended with screams as well.

The camp near the quarry had been the perfect safe haven. It had been far away from the city, protected by the mountains, to avoid the hordes of undead, yet close enough to the aforementioned city, so runners could go and retrieve supplies that couldn’t be provided by the bounty of Mother Nature around them. The water was pure and clean enough to drink, cook with, bathe in, fish in, and use for washing clothes and equipment. There were woods with—somewhat—enough animals to hunt. The residents, all survivors, if you could call them that, all trued to help and earn their keep, using whatever useful skills they possessed; hunt, cook, clean, fish, first-aid, laundry, guard, fix, and etc.; everyone pulled their weight. It felt like they couldn’t be touched by the horrors of the world outside of their campsite.

They could not have been more wrong.

And the fall of the camp, the end of their safe haven, began with a scream.

The shouts of a girl, a girl no older than that of a college student, a sweet girl, who had just needed to go to the bathroom.

Amy.

Walkers, those among the undead, those who had been bitten before dying only to reanimate, things that still baffled Juliana, had come into the camp, popping their peaceful bubble in the middle of the night. Sadly, Amy hadn’t been the only causality that evening. By morning, the rising sun bringing minimal relief, the camp had been reduced by nearly half; the other half had only just barely managed to survive by sheer luck; the “cavalry” had arrived, literally, just in time with much needed weapons to beat off the undead.

The once beautiful and serene quarry became a burial ground, a warzone almost. Smoke from the burning decayed bodies marred the air and the—mocking—bright, blue skies. The camp smelled of rotten and burning flesh, sickly more so because of the Georgia heat. People were mourning their fallen loved ones, the occasional sob breaking out. Hushed arguments were exchanged, debating on what the group’s next move would, among other things; they couldn’t stay there any longer, they all knew. Tensions were high; fears were higher.

Juliana really wished that that was the end of it, but it never was and it never would be.

At least, a decision by evening, after a very long day, as to what the group would be doing was finally made: they were all to go to the CDC in hopes of salvation or at least full-proof protection.

Only problem was one of the main vehicles, Dale’s RV, was busted, needing a proper hose and not duct tape and Jim was worsening more and more with every mile driven from his injury; he had been among the unlucky ones to have been bitten by a Walker; he had had even more misfortune to not have died instantly from the bite like the others.

Fixing the RV was simple enough, somewhat, but leaving one of their own at the side of the road to suffer until his last breath? Not as much.

Juliana felt like she was always saying goodbye and it never got easier.

One by one, after allowing the usually soft-spoken man to choose his final resting place with strained breath, all said their farewells to Jim in their own ways, some silent with a look, some supportive, some affectionate. Then, came Juliana’s turn—much to her dismay; she hated goodbyes, too final, especially those days.

Pushing sweaty strands of light auburn from her even sweatier face, Juliana exhaled deeply and knelt before the mechanic, solemn eyes taking in his anguished person.

She had never been particularly close to Jim, he kept to himself mostly, but he had been nice enough and seemed to have had taken a great shine to her dog, Dean, who was currently whining and licking the dying man’s face; people who were good to animals, in Juliana’s mind, couldn’t be all that bad. Not to mention, no one, no one, deserved to die the way he was; to die and become one of those things was a downright shame.

That time, though, at least she got to properly say goodbye.

Her hand, shaky, but incredible gentle, gasped one of his, so clammy and fragile in hers. She licked her lips, dry and cracked, and managed her best comforting smile, no matter how minuscule. “Just think of your family.” It was all she could offer, her best advice; talking about their families, just a bit, had been all they really discussed.

Jim was silent, eyes closed, breathing shallow, but ultimately, after smiling slightly at the canine giving his own farewell, turned to her. “Listen to it.”

Juliana stilled.

She knew exactly hat he meant.

The CD.

She had never really mentioned it to anyone, but she hadn’t exactly hid it either; she had an odd habit of twirling it idly while deep in thought. Aside from a German Shepherd, and a shotgun she didn’t know how to use, but also refused to, the CD was last thing she had left of her family.

“Listen to it.” Jim repeated and before Juliana could even form a proper response, he start hacking, coughing up blood; she had to pull away, yanking Dean back by his collar.

“I-I… I’ll… Think of your family, Jim.” she sputtered, adverting her gaze.

Maybe saying goodbye properly hadn’t been such a bright idea, after all.

She knew she hated goodbyes for a reason.

Popping herself into the passenger’s side of a certain hunter’s pickup truck, trailing in after Dean, Juliana sighed, rubbing her face, chest tight. “…Don’t ask.” was all she said to the driver; she could feel his eyes on her.

Daryl scoffed. “Wasn’ gonna.” he retorted, gruffly, flipping on the ignition.

“Just drive, Dixon.”

It was time to go and they couldn’t leave sooner according to her. She needed to leave and never look back, none of them could afford that; they had let their guard down and look what happened. They needed to keep moving, find sanctuary; they needed to survive, if you could really call it that.

Grumbling to himself, Juliana tuned it out, or tried to, along with everything else, including Dean’s whimpers, the brunet stepped on the pedal and had them follow the line of cars down the deserted road towards the city of Atlanta, its edifices looming dauntingly along the setting sun’s horizon.

All the while, Jim’s last words reverberated in Juliana’s brain.

“Listen to it…”

Easier said than done.

**XXX**

_Long, hard metal was thrust into her trembling hands, hands that barely grasped the item, their owner taken aback._

_“Gr-Grandpa…?” Juliana breathed before jumping at the sound of wood cracking._

_Their heads snapped to the front door only to blanch at the group of undead, some being people they recognized, neighbors, friends, mutilated and groaning, pushing and piling up against the wood; their strength was breaking the house’s entrance, cracking away at their defenses. Other wee sluggishly slamming their dirtied hands against the windows; it was only a matter of time before they, too, threatened to break._

_“Grandpa,” Juliana finally found her voice albeit shakily, pushing his gun back at him. “We have to go.”_

_“No,” he finally said, tearing his gaze from the Walkers. His strong composure wavered, but only for a moment. The elderly war veteran refused to take the weapon. “Take Dean and your grandmother and go. Out the back. I’ll hold them off.”_

_“Grandpa,”_

_“That’s an order, Juliana. **Go**.”_

_She couldn’t protest further, no matter how much she wanted to; she knew that tone all too well and it left no room for argument. All the redhead could do was obey._

_Thus, with great reluctance, slinging the shotgun over her shoulders with her backpack, Juliana scooped up her grandmother’s hand and clicked her tongue at Dean to ‘heel’ to hurriedly lead them through the living room and kitchen to the back patio door._

_Upon reaching the door, though, she felt a tug on her hand._

_“Wait,”_

_Instantly, Juliana’s heart dropped._

‘No…’

_“Grandma, no,”_

_The tiny woman tried to smile, anguish albeit determination in her grey eyes. “I’m sorry, Jules, but…I can’t leave him,” she murmured, palming her granddaughter’s face tenderly._

_“Grandma--!”_

_Within, there came a crash and a male’s exclaim. They had broken in, there was no doubt; Juliana’s heart lurched._

_“Grandma,”_

_Her grandmother shook her head, still giving that smile, and pulled away to disappear back inside._

_It felt like time was standing still, her heart pounding in her ears._

_This couldn’t be happening…_

_Suddenly, more crashes, groans echoing, proceeding stomach churning screams._

_Juliana bit her lip and forced her feet to turn tail; she ran, Dean at her side, to the car. She never looked back; she couldn’t._

**XXX**

Something wet lapped at her face, slightly rough, stirring her from her slumber, only to be fully awoken by the nauseating and putrid stench of what could only be the rotting flesh of many. Juliana almost choked on it as she pushed Dean from her face.

“H-Holy fuck…!” she coughed out, sitting up and yanking her tank top’s collar over her mouth and nose; it did little to help. “Where are we…? Jesus!”

She thought garbage left over a couple of nights in the heat from the diner smelled horrible.

“Were led ta fuckin’ graveyard,” Daryl growled, snatching up his crossbow from the back and hopped out of the vehicle. Dean followed; for some reason, unbeknownst to Juliana, the canine actually liked the redneck.

Personally, she thought he was too wild, too arrogant, hotheaded.

Sometimes.

A certain older Dixon brother was more so.

Either way…

“ _What?_ ” Juliana questioned, bewildered, eyebrows furrowed before shaking her head, grabbing her own weapon (not that she wished to use it), and exiting the truck herself. And upon doing so, it was almost immediate for her to see what Daryl had meant.

Ahead had to be the main building of the CDC, their designated destination, but the path and all around it, as far as the eye could see, was paved with bodies; bodies upon bodies. All who had been turned and shot down. There had to be dozens upon dozens. Civilians. Security. Scientists. Military.

_‘Out of one graveyard and into another…’_

Exhaling, she licked her lips and started off after the small crowd, heading towards the entrance, huddled close together, gagging and coughing. Everyone was on edge, cautious.

Rick Grimes, a newcomer to the group, a blue-eyed cop with a good head on his shoulders from what Juliana gathered, took the lead with his wife, Lori and their young son, Carl close by and with Shane, originally the group’s leader, in a sense, another cop and Rick’s old partner close to them; perhaps too close, but going—mostly—unnoticed in everyone’s anxiety. Rick led all to the main entrance, but it was completely boarded up by a thick metal shift, like a shield, which was understandable considering the situation.

Banging his fist against the metal, Rick called out, addressing the surveillance camera above to anyone who’d listen, to anyone who was within, “Hello? Anyone? We need help! Please!”

All waited with baited breath, looking around for any sign of movement from the bodies surrounding them; a terror that one seemed so impossible. Yet, their waiting was for naught. Rick tried once again and nothing; he made another attempt, but again, nothing.

The police officer was going to knock and call out again, but Shane pulled him back. “Give it up, man! Nobody’s in there! Nobody’s coming!”

“But--!”

In the short time she had known Rick, Juliana had discovered that he had something that very few people had those days: hope.

A groan that made everyone freeze rung out and all snapped their heads in the direction of the source only to see what they all feared coming towards them: a Walker. Dean barked, growling threateningly from Juliana’s side. People cried out, moving closer to one another than before, bringing the children and the most defenseless nearer into the inner circle. If there was one, there had to be more; there always was.

Thankfully, Daryl stepped up swiftly, raising his crossbow to put an arrow between its eyes, ending it; the Walker dropped now motionless; the only way to “kill” them was to go for the brain. However, that didn’t lessen anyone’s panic, especially not with the sun going down with them so close to the city.

“Ya brought us ta a damn graveyard!” Daryl bellowed, looking ready to put an arrow in Rick’s head, too; he had wanted to since they met.

Shane interjected, shoving Daryl back roughly. “Back off!”

“W-We need to leave!” Carol, a mousy, yet unbelievably kind woman, a fairly good friend of Juliana’s spoke up, cradling her daughter, Sophia close. She was shaking like a leaf.

“Fort Bening,” Shane stated, sternly, bringing up his earlier argument. His had been that the group to go to Fort Bening, the military base, because of the reassured protection and fire power while Rick’s had been the CDC for its protection and the potential answers about the whole apocalypse that could be provided. It had been one of those things that had created tension between them.

“That’s a hundred miles in the other direction.” Andrea, Amy’s older sister, rebuked; she was just as blonde and blue-eyed as her sibling had been.

“Ninety-four, according to the map.” said Glenn, a quick and somewhat cheery Asian man, a bit younger than Juliana; he was quite reliable.

The fair-haired female shot him a look.

“We needed to make a decision now,” Lori, a strong opinionated brunette, piped up. “We cannot be this close to the city at night.”

Not if they wanted to see another day, anyway.

“Fort Bening,” Shane repeated adamantly. 

“Someone is in there, I know it.” Rick protested.

“Rick, man,”

“Make a damn decision!” Juliana ordered, clutching her shotgun.

Shane made it. “Fort Bening.” With that, everyone scurried back to the cars.

“Wait,” Rick exclaimed. “I saw the camera move!”

“Its automatic, Rick! Lets go!”

“No! Someone’s in there! The camera moved!”

Rick was persistent, Juliana would give him that, but there was a limit.

“Rick!”

“It moved!”

“Rick!” Lori pleaded.

“Lets go! Give it up!” 

Shane was trying to drag his best friend back, but Rick struggled. He was panicking, Rick. “There are children here! Children! We’re low on supplies! You’re killin’ us! Killin’ us!”

“Rick, stop!”

Suddenly, everything stopped, everything but the metallic shift blocking the entrance rising, emitting the brightest of lights. All watched as if God was descending down upon them, all dumbfounded.

Then, “Daryl, take the back!” sputtered Shane as he and Rick started, guns raised. With that, everyone quickly albeit hesitantly moved inside, Daryl, as ordered, took the rear, the sun setting behind them, blanketing all in ominous darkness, yet all knew what lurked in it.

“Anyone here?” Rick called out.

“Hello…?” Shane followed up.

Their voices echoed.

So did the sound of a gun cocking where the dim, fluorescent lighting didn’t reach.


End file.
